JACK KILBORN ~ TRAPPED (72 page)

Halfway back to the beach, he heard something in the woods. He stopped, listening, and there was only the sound of crickets. But when he started to walk again, the sound repeated.

Those damn wild people?

They’d become more brazen lately. Last time he’d dropped off supplies, two of them had even come up to him, waving sticks and hooting like monkeys. He shot at them a few times, scared them off.

If they were following him now, he’d do the same thing. But this time, he wouldn’t miss.

Prendick had never taken a life, but he would if he had to. He wasn’t some rube, unable to defend himself. If cornered, he knew he could be as bad as they come.

He flicked the safety off on his pistol and dared those bastards to try something.

There was no way in hell any wild people were going to get the jump on him. Guaranteed.

Tyrone kicked the iron bars again. That made fifty-eight times. Each impact made his right hand throb. He lifted his leg once more, going for fifty-nine.

He was in an old prison cell, but like none he’d ever seen before, and Tyrone had some jail experience. These were the size of his walk-in shower at his mom’s house. There were dozens of them, all lined up next to each other, in a large room that smelled like a basement where the sewer line backed up.

Cindy was in the cage to his right. Sara to his immediate left. There was also someone else locked up, a few rows back. Tyrone could hear rough breathing, see the outline of a person curled up on the floor of the cell, but it was too dark to see who it was, and Sara’s mini-flashlight beam didn’t reach that far. Repeated calls to the mystery figure provoked no response.

The bars, and the locks, looked older than hell. This was probably the civil war prison Martin had talked about in his campfire story. Regardless of age, the iron was still solid, and the bars didn’t budge an inch, even after kickin’ on them for half an hour.

That asshole captain locked them up after marching them here, then jetted. And if the place wasn’t dank and scary enough, somewhere else in the building, someone was screaming like mad. Tyrone tried hard to block it out, to not think about it, but he was pretty sure it was Laneesha.

It was hard not to think about what was happening to Laneesha, what they were doing to her. But as bad as Tyrone felt for his friend, what terrified him even more was the thought that he and Cindy would be next in line for the same treatment.

Tyrone kicked the door again, feeling the shock run up his leg and jar his burned hand, the clang reverberating across the room and fading away.

“
It’ll be dawn soon,” Cindy said. “It’s getting brighter.”

Tyrone stared through the bars to a window in the brick wall. It was open to the outside, and had more iron bars set in it, like an old fashioned Wild West jail. Still looked pretty dark out, but he could make out the barest glimmer of pink. The captain had turned off the lights when he left.

Sara hadn’t said anything since being put in the cell. Before then she was all spit and fire, ready to throw down. Now she looked like a beat dog. Tyrone wondered if his court-appointed caregiver had finally reached the limits of her endurance.

He used the mini-flashlight to check the bars again. No progress.

All things considered, this was turning out to be a pretty shitty camping trip.

Tyrone reared back to kick again when someone mumbled, “Lester…”

It was a male voice, coming from across the room. The person in the cell.

“
Hey!” Cindy shouted. “Who are you?”

Tyrone shushed her. While he was curious who this guy was, he didn’t want to attract any unwanted attention. And this island seemed to be full of folks looking to pay unwanted attention.

“
Martin…” the man said again.

That single word seemed to rouse Sara from her stupor. She stood up and gripped the bars.

“
Martin? Is that you, Martin?”

“
Sara? Frick…where am I?”

Tyrone recognized the voice. Tom.

“
Tom, we’re in a civil war prison. Are you okay?”

“
I’m…sleepy. Everything is all weird looking. Tilted-like.”

“
Can you remember how you got here? You mentioned Martin. Was he with you?” Sara’s voice sounded awfully desperate.

“
I don’t know. It’s fuzzy. I remember…I was with Lester…aw, frick! My frickin’ finger!”

Tom began to whimper. Tyrone had no idea what Tom had been through, but he didn’t feel much sympathy for him. That boy needed to man up.

“
Tom, please, tell me what happened. Do you know where Martin is?”

“
Martin.” Sniffle. “Martin saved me.” Sniffle. “From Lester.”

“
How did you get here, Tom?”

“
We were…we were looking for you. Followed those orange thingies—the ribbons—on the trees. To get back to camp. But then we found these huge pile of bones.”

The lights went on, the surprise of it making Tyrone flinch. Footsteps echoed across the concrete floors, and Tyrone followed the sound, his eyes finally landing on—

“
Martin!” Sara made a happy, squealing noise, reaching through her bars for her husband. Martin rushed to her, holding her arms.

“
Sara!” Tom yelled.

Tyrone watched, unable to do anything, as Martin dug a syringe out of his pocket, jabbed it into Sara’s arm, and pressed the plunger.

“
Martin? Wha…”

Sara fell to her knees, then onto her side.

Cindy said, “Martin? What are you doing?”

But Tyrone knew.

“
You one of the bad guys, ain’t you?”

Martin smiled at Tyrone, walked over to him. “Bad as they come,
brutha
.”

Tyrone lunged at Martin, his left hand slipping through the bars, trying to grab the man’s neck. Martin stood just out of reach.

“
You need to save your strength, Tyrone. Trust me. You’ll need it.”

“
You son of a bitch.”

Martin turned away, taking a key from his pocket and unlocking Sara’s cell.

“
He did that to me, too,” Tom whined. “Jabbed me with a needle and knocked me out.”

“
Too little, too late, dumb ass,” Tyrone said.

Martin crouched down, pulled Sara’s arm over his shoulder, then hefted her up in a fireman’s carry.

“
Martin?” Cindy’s voice was meek, disbelieving.

Martin glanced at her. “Let me say what a distinct displeasure it has been working with you pathetic little fuck-ups. You’re going to die today. Die in more pain than you can possibly imagine. And you know what, Cindy? Not a single person in the world is going to care.”

Martin winked, then carried Sara out of the room.

Cindy began to cry. Tyrone had no idea what to do. So he reached through the bars with his left hand, held Cindy’s, and squeezed.

“
I care,” he said.

But for some reason that made her cry even harder.

Sara opened her eyes. Her head was muddled, thoughts groggy, her brain floating in that state between sleep and awareness.

Then she remembered Martin stabbing her with that needle, and all at once she was on full alert, processing her situation. She was on her side, on an old cot that smelled like mold and dried sweat. Sara tried to sit up, but discovered she was hogtied; hands behind her back, the same rope snaking down her legs and securing her ankles.

Sara looked around. She was in a room, well lit and relatively warm, with a lingering scent of lemon air freshener masking something rank. The gray stone walls told her she was still in the prison, and the nearest wall had shackles hanging from it by a large metal bolt. The wall was covered with reddish-brown stains.

Near the far wall was a wooden dresser with eight drawers. Next to that was a table. Sara craned her neck to see what was on top, and saw a variety of power tools, including a portable drill with a large bit.

On the other side of the room, there was an old wooden chest, a wheelchair, and a pegboard, on which a wicked assortment of knives and saws hung.

“
Good morning, sunshine.”

Martin walked into view. He looked happier than he had in a long time.

“
Martin, what’s—”

His hand lashed out, hard and fast, slapping Sara on her right cheek and rocking her head back. Sara felt the blood rush to her face, then the inevitable sting.

“
Don’t be stupid, Sara. You’ve figured it out by now.”

Sara took a moment, until she was sure she could speak without breaking down. This betrayal was so unexpected, so absolute, she felt she had to make sense of it.

“
Six years ago, Joe went missing. You were with him, on his boat. You came here.”

“
Keep going.”

“
Plincer got you both. The cannibals brought you to him.”

“
Lester got us, actually. Back then there weren’t nearly as many of the ferals, and they weren’t organized.”

Martin pulled up a folding chair, set it up near the bed.

“
Did you know it was Plincer’s Island?” Sara’s voice was quavering.

“
No. What I said in my campfire story was true. Joe and I and six others. Two friends of his, and four women.” He sat down. “Did you really think I was faithful all these years?”

Sara said nothing.

“
Incredible. Either I’m that good, or you’re that naïve. One of the women, the one I was fucking, actually did get seasick. And we did beach the boat. And the cannibals did attack. Joe and I got away, but Lester found us. Took us back to the doc.”

Martin rubbed his eyes. They were tinged with red, like they always got without his Goniosol medication. The holes in his cheeks had stitches in them.

“
Plincer made you evil,” she stated.

“
That’s not quite how it works. The procedure enhances the parts of the brain that process aggression. The doctor simply enlarged these portions, making violent acts not only more appealing, but necessary. Sort of like the sex drive, except this is the violence drive.”

Martin lashed out again, slapping her harder this time. Sara’s cheek burned.

“
Doing that to you, it gave me a huge rush. I can feel the serotonin spike, my dopamine receptors feasting on it. Better than any high I’ve ever known. And especially sweet, since I’ve wanted to do that to you almost since the day we married.”

Sara couldn’t help the tears now, but she managed to keep from sobbing.

“
The orange ribbons on the trees…”

Martin nodded. “That was me. After I did my disappearing act at the campsite, I changed the ribbons to lead everyone to the prison. But those feral fuckers got the jump on me. I was so caught up in playing Mr. Nice Guy Martin, telling scary stories, I forgot my gun in my backpack. You really did save my life, Sara. Allow me to thank you for that.”

He hit her again, this time with a closed fist. Sara had been expecting it, though, and turned her head in time, so his knuckles met the top of her skull.

“
Bitch,” he said, shaking his hand and then blowing on his knuckles. “I’d feel that if I wasn’t on painkillers. I’m going to make you pay for that.”

Sara retreated into her caregiver role, summoning up a bit of anger and righteous indignation. “Where’s Laneesha and Georgia?”

“
Plincer gave Laneesha to Subject 33. He’s had her for a while now. I doubt there’s very much left of her. He’s got some sort of device. Personally, it gives me the creeps.”

“
And Georgia?”

“
Bad girl, that Georgia. We both know she was faking her remorse. I think she was hiding more than that. We’re taking good care of her.”

“
Martin,” Sara tried to put all of her feelings into her voice. “These are our kids. You have to help them.”

“
We never had kids, Sara. None of them wanted to grow inside of you. These kids are a bunch of social miscreants. Always have been. Always will be. I’ve been doing society a favor, taking them out of the gene pool all these years.”

Sara didn’t like this conversation at all, but she especially didn’t like the turn it just took. “What are you talking about, Martin?”

Martin leaned in close, smiling. “Do you really think we’ve had eleven runaways since we opened the Center?”

Sara narrowed her eyes. “What did you do, Martin?”

He stood, walking over to the dresser. Keeping his eyes on Sara, he opened the top drawer.

“
Remember Cheerese Graves? One of our first court-appointed cases at the Center. Also our first runaway.”

Martin reached into the drawer. Sara didn’t want to watch, but she couldn’t turn away. He pulled out what looked like a brown shirt. But then he held it up, letting it unroll to full length.

Sara gagged, throwing up on the cot mattress.

“
Not my best work,” Martin said. “Skinning isn’t easy. Especially when the person is still alive. All that flinching and bleeding. That’s why there are all the tears on this one. Take a look.”

Martin tossed the skin across the room. It glided, almost like a kite, then landed on Sara.